


Small McCartney

by aquaaura



Category: Help! (1965), The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M, also ik the title is stoopid ill fix it later, but I hope you enjoy it, leave comments please, okay enjoy, okay this is my first fanfiction ever, please enjoy it for what it is, so it's a little garbage, someone teach me how to write stories, thank you macca-is-art for the inspiration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaaura/pseuds/aquaaura
Summary: When Ahme drops the syringe intended to shrink Ringo's finger, Paul is injected with the solution and becomes tiny. Like, very tiny. What are the Beatles going to do when it doesn't seem to wear off?-----------------------------------------------------------------Inspired by Help! (1965) and by the drawings by macca-is-art on TumblrI do not own the Beatles or the original idea by macca-is-art





	1. Tell Me What You See

It took a while for Paul to open his eyes. After the needle had struck his thigh, everything went hazy. It felt like he had been asleep for a long time, but he wasn’t sure. The bassist looked around, only to be greeted by pitch darkness and an acute ringing in his ears. As he starting to walk, he noticed that he was suddenly very cold, but also warm, as if stuck under a thick blanket. He put his arms around himself to keep warm, only to find where his suit sleeves once were were bare. The ringing in Paul’s ears was beginning to dull, but now a new noise was filling his head with pain. He heard loud voices booming from outside the heavy thing he was trapped under. Footsteps erupted like gunshots around him as he heard their frantic moving. 

‘I have to get out of here.’ The young man thought to himself. In his felt prison, he could see a vague light coming close. As he walked towards the light, Paul tripped on an large paper. Laying on the crinkled sheet, he could make out the words of the gum brand he recently chewed. Noticing his coldness once more, he took the towel-sized paper and wrapped it around himself before finally reaching the light.

Crawling out, Paul realized two things. One, the thick tunnel he just walked through was the sleeve of a suit. Particularly, his suit. Two, the shouting and footsteps were due to a large fight happening around him. He could see his tall bandmates wrestling with the members of the cult, desperately avoiding the red paint that was thrown about. As a careless foot stomped beside Paul, he ran away into the refuge of an ashtray fit for giants. Paul sat in the divoted bowl, taking deep breaths as his heart pounded from the adrenaline. Holding his legs to his chest and cowering, Paul realized what had happened. The serum that was going to shrink Ringo’s finger had been injected into him, and way too much of it. Paul was incredibly tiny.

\---

The young man clutched his gum wrapper dress and tried to calm himself as the fear set in. What was he going to do? No one seemed to know where he was. At any second, someone could easily step on the ashtray and…Paul couldn’t think about that possibility right now. He looked around from the sides of the bowl for something he could use to alert his bandmates about where he was. His eyes fell on a half-open box of matches that had fallen from his suit pocket when he shrunk. 

Paul looked around to make sure no one was coming before rushing out of the ashtray towards the matchbox. He pulled out one of the slender sticks, which weighed a lot more than he expected it would. Wobbling around with the match, and desperately trying to keep it balanced, he managed to strike it and start a flame nearly the size of his head. Paul’s hazel eyes glimmered as the flame reflected in them, but Paul had no time to contemplate how he was just a little taller than a mere matchstick. It was around this time that the fight had begun to slow down, and as the cult members left John, George, and Ringo were all now set on trying to find him. Paul held the matchstick high and waved it around, yelling with all his might, although he could tell that his voice did not travel far.

\---

“Oh God, where could he be?!” John yelled out. The three men searched frantically around the large house. Their only clues were Paul’s suddenly abandoned suit and the empty syringe that laid discarded beside the white couch. John, with his blind-as-a-bat eyesight, could barely make out anything around him, so his search was useless. Ringo was distraught over Paul, but was also currently distracted over the red paint that had gotten on him during the fight, which would mean that he would be sacrificed. George looked around the couch, lifting cushions and pillows to try to find Paul. The tiny Beatle in question looked helplessly at his bandmates, screaming with all his might for them to look. Alas, his small voice and their faraway ears didn’t communicate the message. He waved the matchstick even more and called John’s name as he was the man closest to him. 

“John, what are we going to do? We can’t find him anywh-.” George stopped mid sentence as a small, warm glow by the floor caught his attention. His heart sunk as he knelt down slowly towards the matchstick. John and Ringo noticed George’s sudden silence, and went to go kneel beside him too as they viewed the flame. With wide eyes, the three men looked at the tiny McCartney as he held his match. “P-Paul…” George whispered. By this time, the match had become too heavy for Paul’s weak arms, and he set it in the ashtray with a sigh of relief. Paul’s eyes began to well up with tears as his bandmates stared at him with an expression they had never look at him with before: shock. “Macca, are you okay?” John yelled. Paul had to cover his tiny ears as John’s voice boomed, and at seeing Paul recoil from the loudness John put his hand over his mouth. “Sorry…” He said softly. 

Paul’s breathing was still shallow and his heart still beated furiously in fear. He desperately held back tears as he looked up again at his huge bandmates. “I think so…” He yelled up to them. Thankfully, they were able to hear his small voice as they knelt so close to him. John slowly held his hand out, and Paul climbed on as John dropped the young man in his breast pocket. Paul was almost thankful to be back in the confines of a suit again, as in the warmth and security of the fabric he could pretend that this was all a dream, and that any moment he would wake up just to find himself under a blanket and not actually in a suit. From the pocket, Paul could nearly make out the muffled but still loud voices of John, George, and Ringo as they talked frantically. He couldn’t make out any words, but he knew they were talking about what they were going to do about him. What **were** they going to do? Supposedly, the serum would fade in a few minutes, but Paul had received way too much more than anyone should. Paul was still scared, with his tiny heart still booming, but the warmth of the pocket calmed him, and soon enough Paul fell asleep against the rhythmic beating of the chest beside him. 

This was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I probably will continue this story if people enjoy it. Please let me know what you think of it in the comments below. Huge thanks again to macca-is-art, go follow them on Tumblr if you haven't already.


	2. Dizzy Miss Lizzy

The next thing Paul remembered was waking up on top of a skyscraper.

Well, that’s what he thought it was for a moment.

The shrunken Paul opened his eyes to see a wide expanse of carpet that looked like it was miles below him. He immediately sat up, terrified. Looking around the platform, he noticed its’ smooth hardwood finish and the large mirror to the back of it. There were also some boxes to the side of the platform that had various necklaces spilling out of them. With a sigh of relief, Paul realized he was merely on top of a dresser and laid down again on his back. He then sat back up again. _He was on top of a dresser._ The young man buried his head in his hands, and trying to soothe his panic, took deep breaths. 

He took his hands off his face after a few minutes of freaking out and surveyed his surroundings once more, now seeing that the gum wrapper he had worn as clothes was spread over him like a blanket. Paul stood up and clutched the wrapper around himself again. The room around him was devoid of Ahme and his other bandmates. ‘Surely they didn’t forget about me..’ he silently hoped before shaking his head at that nonsense. 

To the back of the dresser was the mirror he saw before. Now being fully up and awake, he took in the view fully. Paul saw his tiny form, perhaps only about 80 millimeters tall. He saw his terrified face, still with the same doe eyes and black hair as ever, despite his size. He grabbed the gum wrapper tightly as he felt tears sting his eyes. The man sighed and walked away from the mirror, unable to look at his meek form any longer. 

It was in that instant that Ahme, John, and George burst into the room, startling Paul and making him fall back into the jewelry box. 

“...won’t work, I’m telling you! Either way, we shouldn’t go using another syringe from Ahme’s weird blood cult!” John yelled as he walked into the room with the other two. Ahme shot him a glare, which John challenged right back.

“Logically, it seems like it would, though.” George said. “Ahme has voo-doo medicines to shrink things, and she has ones to make things grow. If we just use one on Paul..”

“And he becomes a giant?” interrupted John. He laughed a little. “How do we tell that to the press? ‘Beatles Break Up After McCartney Becomes 50 Meters Tall!’” John flopped back onto a couch in the room and closed his eyes while pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought and frustration. Him and George sighed in unison.

“Be-at-uls, I assure you the solutions are not dangerous when used correctly.” Ahme said in with her thick accent. 

“Well they clearly haven’t been used correctly or else Paul wouldn’t be sleeping on a dresser right now.” John grumbled under his breath. Ahme gave him another glare. Normally, she was all fine with administering the syringes, but it wasn’t fair for these strangers, who she was trying to help, to blame her for Paul’s predicament. If it weren’t for her fellow cult members storming into the room, she wouldn’t have dropped the syringe. It was out of her hands.

“Speaking of Paul sleeping, how much longer will he be out? It’s been hours.” George turned to Ahme.

Paul peaked his eyes out of the top of the jewelry box he fell into. Hours? It didn’t feel like he’d been asleep for so long.

Ahme answered. “A normal dosage of the shrinking solution can make one a little drowsy, but Paul received the whole syringe. He might be sleepy for a while.”

The tiny Beatle then crawled out of the jewelry box as Ahme and George talked, trying not to cause too much of a distraction. As he stepped out, he tripped on one of the white orbs of the pearl necklace tangled around him. All three of the normal-sized people in the room turned to face the dresser as they heard the sound of the pearls being moved around. George and John sprang up to the dresser to untangle Paul from the necklace.

“Paul! You’re up!” John said in a mindfully soft but excited voice. The two Beatles smiled at Paul as he blushed hard from the embarrassment of being caught stuck in a necklace. He pulled up his gum wrapper dress, fixed his hair a little, and then looked up at them. Despite the fact he knew he trusted his fellow bandmates, Paul was still in awe at how huge everything around him was, and he took a cautious step back as they stood close to the dresser. 

“Where’s Ringo?” Paul called up to them, eager to change the subject. Neither John nor George could hear Paul very well, so John offered out his palm again for the tiny Beatle to hop onto. Embarrassed once again, Paul with a beet-red face climbed up onto John’s hand, and the older Beatle brought his hand up close enough for them to hear Paul. “Where’s Ringo?” Paul said again. This time he could speak around a normal level, maybe a little louder, and George and John could hear him. 

“He’s taking a bath, washing off that red paint.” George answered.

“What? But you two said I was out for hours, why’s he only getting a bath now?”

John answered this time. “After those freakish cult members jumped us, along with your...situation…” John cleared his throat, obviously being able to tell how embarrassed it made Paul to be reminded of his predicament. “..we knew that we couldn’t stay in that house anymore. We luckily were able to find a place to stay only a few hours from the house. A few other hyjinx later, and here we are. You stayed asleep the whole journey, miraculously.”  
At the mention of Paul staying asleep, the tiny Beatle yawned a little. Ahme was right, he was incredibly tired. The two taller Beatles smiled subtly at Paul’s cute little yawn, but an adorable death glare from Paul stopped them.

Paul sighed a little again and looked back up at George and John. “I heard you arguing with Ahme about some sort of growth solution?”

George and John glared at each other a little, rekindling their anger about what to do for Paul. “It’s safe.” George said to Paul, even though he looked at John as he said it. “If we use the right amount, you’ll be right back to normal size, give or take a millimeter or two.”

“And if we don’t use the right amount?” Paul replied.

“No idea, which is why we shouldn’t do it. I don’t want anything else bad happening to Paul.” John butted in. He looked down at the tiny Beatle again with a little sorrow. Paul turned away from his gaze, not wanting to be pitied.

Paul broke the silence a moment later. “Wouldn’t it just be better to wait this out? Surely this won’t last for too much longer.” 

Just as George was about to say something, Ringo barged into the room wrapped in a towel. He looked like he was just out of breath from running. The other three and Ahme all turned to look at him.

“The cult! They found us here!”

“That’s your problem, Ringo. It’s your finger they’re after anyway.” John said snarkily.

“No, they’re asking for Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) it's done
> 
> not the whole fic obviously but i finally got off my lazy butt and wrote chapter 2
> 
> I'll be graduating in a few days so once that happens I'll have a lot of free time during the summer to write
> 
> Comments encouraged, go follow macca-is-art on Tumblr, I'll cya guys with chapter 3 sometime in the future


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